


Beyond The Kiss

by walkwithursus



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Bottom Howard, Contracts, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 06:45:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18493555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkwithursus/pseuds/walkwithursus
Summary: Tired of being a thirty-two year old virgin, Howard goes to Vince for help and advice. Vince seizes this unprecedented opportunity to demonstrate how he really feels about his best mate.





	Beyond The Kiss

At the ripe old age of thirty-two, Howard Moon was still a virgin. 

Prior to his birthday party the week before, this hadn't seemed to be much of an issue - at least, not that Vince had ever been aware of. Sure, Howard was a little obsessed with women, sometimes to the point of a misdemeanor, and sure he had a tendency to fall for anyone who so much as glanced in his direction. But that was just Howard, wasn't it? Shy, desperate, lonely, hopelessly romantic Howard. Virginity and Howard Moon went together like peanut butter and Nutella. 

So it was no small surprise when Howard first approached Vince with the idea to be rid of it. Thirty-two years was long enough, he reasoned, and besides, it wasn't as though he was really losing anything as the phrase implied. If anything, he was opening himself up to a whole new world of opportunity and adventure, one he'd foolishly deprived himself of well into adulthood. That was the truth of it, yes sir, he was certain. The only problem was that when it came to casual sex, Howard didn't really know where to begin. And thus, he had approached his best mate for advice. 

Vince was less than flattered. Howard's backhanded attempt at complimenting his experience felt more like a slap to the face, but out of a sense of malevolent curiosity he had quashed those feelings and agreed to help. The first step was to find a willing partner, Vince had told him truthfully. At Howard's blank look Vince had suggested a prostitute, which had curtailed the conversation for a few hours as Howard refused to speak to him. By the time Vince had finally begged enough forgiveness to reopen the dialogue, Howard had become so discouraged that he agreed to the idea of hired help, and asked Vince if he could recommend someone. 

This had stopped Vince in his tracks. Offended though he undoubtedly was, he couldn't very well send Howard - sensitive, poetic, chivalrous Howard - off into the arms of a stranger. But for the life of him, he couldn't think of anyone else to suggest either. Sure, Vince knew plenty of pretty Camden birds, but no one he'd be willing to subject to Howard Moon - or vise versa, for that matter. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized no one he'd ever met in this world or the next would be worthy of Howard Moon's carefully saved innocence. And so Vince suggested himself. After all, he was the reigning expert on casual sex. Howard had said so himself.

It was a purely selfless idea. An act of charity, really, done out of the goodness of his own heart. Whatever feelings Vince may have one time had for Howard had long since been smothered into dormancy, so really, this was just one mate helping out another. The perfect opportunity to get off with someone clean and experienced, and save a couple of quid to boot. Vince told Howard as much, save the bit about smothered feelings. 

Howard was slow to come around to the idea, but the more Vince chatted it up the more he came to agree that this was the only possible solution to his thirty-two year old problem. When he finally gave a definitive yes, Vince felt he was over the moon, soaring in a rocket ship high above the planet, out of the Milky Way, into another galaxy or dimension where triumph reigned supreme. Until Howard mentioned the contract, and he came crashing back down to Earth. 

X

“I think we’re just about finished here. Do either of you have any final items to add to the list?”

“Just one.” Howard pauses in his pacing to clear his throat. “The undersigned hereby agree that the act shall take place in the bed of Howard T.J. Moon.” 

Vince jolts into alertness from his position on the settee, chin snapping up from where it had begun to loll forward onto his chest. “Hang on a second - your bed? Why does it have to be your bed?”

“Because. My bed is more comfortable.”

“It’s a single, mine’s a double!”

“Did I say comfortable? I meant durable.” At Vince’s look of disbelief Howard continues, his tone imbued with wisdom. “That frame is from Ikea, Vince. It squeaks like a mouse with a piece of cheese. Under our combined weight it would collapse like a matchbox.”

“As if.”

“What?”

“As if _you_ could ever make the bed collapse.”

“How dare you. We Moon men have been known to rattle a headboard or two in our time.”

“What, by yourselves?” 

The typewriter dings as Naboo interjects. “Stop flirting, both of you. This is supposed to be a business meeting, yeah? I expect you guys to act professional. Now, do you both agree on Howard’s bed or not?”

Tiny eyes scrutinize Vince’s face as he mulls it over. Truthfully, he couldn’t care less whose bed they used to do the deed. In fact, nearly everything they’d gone over so far had been meaningless details to Vince, things he never would have thought of or considered if it hadn’t been for Howard’s obsessive need to pre-plan everything down to the second. And adamant as Howard was to cling to some semblance of control over the situation, Vince had gone along with most everything he’d asked thus far. 

“Fine,” Vince gives a lax wave. “Anything else, Mussolini?”

Howard checks the last box on his handwritten list and says, “Nope.” 

“Thank Christ.” Naboo’s tiny hands are a blur over the keys. “We’re almost ready, then.” 

The seating area falls quiet, save the tap-tap-tapping of the typewriter. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Vince hedges after a beat, torn between the desire to see this through to the end and concern for his mate’s apparently fragile state of mind. “I mean it Howard, it’s not too late to back out. So, you’re a virgin - who cares? You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

“Oh I don’t, do I?” Howard asks, his eyebrows drawn up toward his hairline. “Get stuffed - I’m your insurance policy! You’re only saying that so that the next time Naboo releases a demon it’ll go straight for me, and you’ll be spared.” 

Vince fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Those kinds of demons don’t even exist, you berk! Naboo was only joking, he said so himself! Naboo, tell him.”

Naboo pulls the carriage return on the typewriter and shrugs. “They exist on my planet. Right Bollo?”

“Bollo not know. Bollo good with women.”

Howard makes a triumphant gesture as though his point has been proven. Vince covers his eyes with one hand. A minute later the document is signed, dated, and officially notarized. 

“Alright, you ballbags, shake hands.” 

Naboo takes off his glasses and the typewriter in front of him disappears in a puff of white smoke. Howard wipes the palm of his hand on his corduroys and extends it toward Vince, who wrings it once and drops it. 

“Right, let’s get to it, shall we?” Howard says, all business. 

“Absolutely not.” Naboo calls over his shoulder on his way to the fridge. “I put a clause in there to prevent this exact thing from happening. Section four paragraph three. Under no circumstance are you two to bum while me and Bollo are in the flat. That’s well disgusting.” 

“You put that in there without permission,” Howard states accusingly, rifling through the stack of papers on the coffee table. “What kind of notary are you? What else did you add in?”

“Never you mind.”

Vince shoots the shaman a look behind Howard’s back and tiptoes over to the kitchen. “Now you’ve gone and done it. Look at him, he’s already paranoid enough without you meddling about. And when are we supposed to actually do it if you’ve written that in?”

“Don’t worry,” Naboo says reassuringly. “You’ll get your chance. Bollo and me are leaving first thing tomorrow morning. I reckon you can wait till then?”

X

Unsurprisingly, Howard takes the legality of a contract very seriously, even those particulars added in by meddlesome shaman. To violate any part of the agreement would render the whole thing null and void, he reasons. And so, despite Vince’s huffing, they turn in to their separate beds that night. 

The next morning dawns bright and early for those awake to see it. Howard is joined at the breakfast table many hours later by Vince, who has still managed to wake up before Bollo and Naboo. The shaman and familiar run late as usual, only slamming the door of the flat behind them at a quarter past four that afternoon. 

The moment they are gone Vince bounces up eagerly and claps his hands together, only to have Howard shoo him back into his seat under the pretense that one couldn’t leave a game of chess unfinished. It had been Howard’s idea to play - something to stimulate their minds while they waited, he’d reasoned. TV was plenty stimulating, Vince had tried to argue, but in the end Howard’s persistence had won out, and they’d brought out the old board. Two hours on, Vince had never felt less stimulated in his life. 

“Aha! Checkmate!” The Northerner’s booming cry rouses Vince out of a daydream. “Another victory for Howard Moon.”

“Cheers,” Vince mumbles, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as Howard starts swapping back their stolen pieces. 

“Come on, this is fun! What do you say to another game, eh? Best out of seven.” 

“Oh, come off it, Howard, we’ve been at it for ages. You win every time. I don’t even remember how the horses are supposed to move.” Unable to sit another minute more, Vince clambers to his feet and puts his hands on his hips. “This is getting ridiculous. When are you going to stop stalling?”

Howard’s eyelid twitches. “Stalling? Who’s stalling?” 

“You are, Chess Wiz! Bollo and Naboo left ages ago.”

“So?”

“ _So?_ What are we waiting for? Let’s get to bed already.”

Howard begins resetting the board, light pieces on one side, dark on the other. “It’s still a bit early for that, don’t you think?”

“A bit early?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, shouldn’t we wait till it gets dark?”

Vince looks taken aback. “This isn’t the 1950’s, Howard. People have sex during the daytime.”

“Well, not me,” Howard clips frostily. “So if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to wait. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t push the matter.” 

For a moment Vince gapes like a fish, opening and closing his mouth with unspoken retorts. In the end he thinks better than to pursue an argument, and says, “Fine. Whatever. You stay out here and play by yourself. But sunset’s in one hour, Moon. I’d better see you in there.”

“Where are you going?”

“To fix my hair,” Vince replies, and he pads down the hallway and into the bathroom before Howard can call him back. The next hundred minutes pass quickly in front of the mirror, and before long the light outside the glass block window has faded and gone dark. Swearing at the lost time, Vince unplugs his straightener and hastily sweeps his makeup back into the drawer from whence it came before zipping out of the bathroom and down the narrow hall. 

On his way back out to the living area, Vince notices the light on under the door to his and Howard’s shared bedroom. With a gulp, he realizes that this is it, that after hours, days, maybe even years if he's willing to be honest with himself, it's finally about to happen. Butterflies of excitement burst forth from their cocoons in his stomach, flitting about and tickling him from the inside as he grins so wide his cheeks hurt. With a deep, steadying breath he knocks, and at the sound of a muffled invitation, enters. 

Howard is sitting on the edge of his bed, fiddling with the record player on the bureau. Music is playing very softly, almost imperceptible to Vince’s rock-and-roll shattered eardrums. Ever the gentleman, Howard stands when Vince enters into the room. 

“Hi.”

“Hi yourself.”

Vince gestures toward the disc rotating on the turntable. “What’ve you got on?” 

“Glenn Miller” Howard says, nodding toward the empty album sleeve. “Do you like it? I can turn it down if not.”

_Rule Number Four: No Eye Contact. Rule Number Five: No Kissing. Rule Number Six: Howard gets to pick the music._

“Nah, it’s fine. Can barely hear it anyway.” Vince answers. Big band was a compromise they’d discovered early on in their friendship. Far from being his favorite genre, it was still a right side better than jazz funk. 

Silence descends between them, filled by the swell of the horn section from the record player. Howard’s fingers fidget with a loose string on his sleeve, his expression strangely blank. Vince takes a few steps forward and lays a hand on his arm. 

“Oi, are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Born ready,” Howard says, not quite looking at him. 

“Alright. It’s just, you seem a bit tense.”

The accusation seems to snap Howard out of his own head. 

“Tense? Oh, I don’t think so. I’m Howard Moon, Man of Action. I thrive on tension. It’s what makes me tick. You know the ‘T’ in my middle name?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah? Stands for ‘Tension’.”

Vince grins. “Howard ‘Tension’ J Moon? What’s the ‘J’ stand for? ‘Jazz’?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know what it stands for.”

“Right, sorry. J -” 

“Don’t say it. Don’t ever say it.”

“Alright, cool your boots!” 

Having a unisex middle name was one of Howard’s greatest sources of shame. At the time he’d discovered it he’d sworn Vince to secrecy, promising a swift and painful end if he ever spoke it aloud or revealed it to anyone. Vince had kept the secret, mostly because he’d forgotten about it until now. 

Howard breaks him out of his reverie by clearing his throat. “So, I’m guessing you have the er, stuff?”

“What stuff?” 

“You know, the stuff we’ll be needing. The condoms, the lubricant.”

“Oh, yeah.” Vince pops open a dresser drawer and retrieves a few essentials. “Honestly, I’m surprised you know what any of that is.”

“I did a little research.”

“Research?” Vince wiggles his eyebrows at him and makes his way back over to Howard’s side. “I suppose that makes you the expert, then. So tell me, Ron Jeremy, what comes next?”

“Next?” The question leaves Howard momentarily stumped. When he finally answers, he’s not quite able to disguise the question mark at the end of his sentence. “Well, I suppose we have to get undressed, don’t we?”

Not a bad answer. 

“Alright, let’s do that,” Vince agrees, only slightly over-eager to his own ears. 

He begins to remove his accessories, partly so they won’t get damaged and partly so as not to spook Howard with his enthusiasm by shucking his entire wardrobe off in five seconds flat. As he lays his bracelets and necklaces aside, he notices Howard has not moved so much as a muscle. His beady little eyes remain transfixed on Vince’s progress, studying him like some sort of scientific observer. Or, more likely, a pervert, ogling him like he’d done in the past with Gideon and that woman with the binoculars. 

With a cheeky grin, Vince removes the feather boa from around his shoulders to reveal a strip of bare chest. The next instant he’s swooped it over Howard’s neck like one of his ugly tartan scarves. 

“Enjoying the show?” 

Blinking, Howard reaches up and slides the silky boa off himself. It flutters to the floor. “Sorry, I...” he trails off and at Vince’s insistence begins to fumble with the collar button of his Hawaiian shirt. It won’t budge. The harder he tries to dislodge it the more frantic his movements become, until Vince takes pity on him and swooshes his hands away. 

“Here, let me,” he says, replacing Howard’s touch with his own steadier one. The buttons part smoothly all the way to the end, but just as he’s about to strip the shirt from Howard’s frame a small voice gives him pause. 

“Vince… Can we get the light?” 

Vince blinks in surprise. The lamp on the dresser glows soft and yellow, casting just enough light to see by. Not a problem, unless of course one doesn’t want to be seen. 

“Course we can,” Vince says, and he reaches over and tugs the string. Darkness descends in an instant. “Better?”

A shaky breath and a nod from the larger man. With a little encouragement Howard sheds his shirt and vest, and Vince is left to admire the soft, smooth skin of Howard’s torso by hand. 

“Your arms are incredible,” Vince murmurs as his fingers coast over a rounded bicep.

“Jazzercise,” Howard explains shyly. He fiddles with the lacy hem of Vince’s blouse. “May I?”

“Please.” 

With a swish of silk the top is over his head and cast aside into the corner of the room. Vince peels his own trousers off to save Howard the difficulty, careful to leave his little black pants on for the time being as Howard awkwardly does the same. Even in the dark, the white of Howard’s Y-fronts is nearly blinding, something Vince would find funny if he weren’t mesmerized by the thickly swollen shape inside them. Unable to resist, he hooks one finger in the elastic waistband and gives it a snap. Howard’s eyes close reflexively. 

“So, when do I get to feel one of Howard Moon’s famous moves?”

The confidence of Howard’s tone is belied by its tremor. “Anytime you’re ready, sir.”

“I’m ready now.”

“I don’t know that you are, Vince. These moves, they’re a little too violent for some. A little too primitive.”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do? Pick me up and throw me on the bed like a caveman?”

“Oh, you’d like that, would you?”

Mid-retort, Vince’s legs disappear out from under him, tearing a yelp from his throat as his belly swoops with the sensation of falling. Before the panic can truly set in Howard’s powerful arms are there to catch him, and for a fraction of an instant he feels the close heat of the other man’s skin as he’s cradled against Howard’s chest. Then he’s falling again through open air to land on a hard mattress, head bouncing back into the pillows. And suddenly Howard is on top of him, between his legs, hovering, his mustache tickling Vince’s ear. 

“You like that?”

Vince moans in answer and wraps his legs around Howard’s waist, bringing their bodies flush into contact. The bulge in Howard's pants presses right up against his own, hot and throbbing. Howard shivers in his arms and raises just out of reach.

“Too much?” 

“A little,” Howard admits. With an embarrassed mumble he rolls off and onto his back so that they are lying side by side. Breathing hard, Vince finds his hand in the dark and holds it tightly in his own. 

Though entirely novel, the moment gives Vince a sense of deja vu. Memories flood his mind’s eye of late nights bunking on the floor of the keeper’s hut when they worked together at the Zooniverse. Even then he’d wanted so badly to touch Howard, to zip their sleeping bags together into one big cocoon and crawl in beside him. Common sense had told Vince not to push his luck, not even so far as to stroke Howard’s hand when it fell out of the sleeping bag and onto the floor between them. Holding it now, Vince feels lightheaded, giddy, as though a childhood wish has been fulfilled. And he thinks that if this is as far as Howard is able to go with him, it’s enough. 

“Can I ask you something?” Vince says eventually, turning to prop himself up on his side. One of Howard’s shoulders wiggles in what he believes to be a shrug. “About the night of your party. When we were on the roof.”

“What about it?”

“I’ve just been wondering, you know, about what you said. Was I - I mean... Was that really your first kiss?”

Howard’s shifty little eyes appraise him in the dark. “You know it was,” he says.

Vince purses his lips in a frown as he tries to assemble his thoughts. “But what about Gregg and Eleanor and all those other nutters we’ve come across? You’ve had some pretty wild encounters in your time.”

“Yeah, well, what happened with them wasn’t exactly consensual, was it?” Howard returns crossly. 

“No, I guess not. But then our kiss on the roof, that wasn’t really consensual either was it? I mean I sort of sprung it on you out of nowhere.”

Howard is silent for a while, leaving Vince to wonder if he’s said the wrong thing as usual. When at last he does speak his tone is careful. “I suppose you’re right. But it was different with you, it wasn’t - ...“

“What?”

Howard bites his lip. “Unwanted.”

The word shoots a current along the length of Vince’s spine, sending tingles all the way from his scalp to the tips of his toes. He curls in closer, arching to fill in every inch of space that separates the larger man’s body from his own. This time, Howard does not flinch away, and Vince takes that as a sign to press forward, swinging his leg up and over Howard’s thighs until he is sitting astride his lap. His palms press flat against the broad planes of Howard’s chest. 

“And do you want me now, Howard?” He asks, his stomach fluttering with nervous excitement. The body under him is too quiet, too still, as though paralyzed by fear. Vince searches out Howard’s huge hands in the darkness and places them on his waist. For a moment they are awkward, fumbling. Then his fingers dig in - _hard._

“More than anything,” Howard whispers as a shudder wracks his entire body. “Please, Vince. I - … I want you to make love to me.”

It’s everything Vince ever wanted to hear. 

For a while, time seems to speed up as the intensity mounts between them. Vince peels Howard’s pants off with agonizing slowness, anticipating the moment his cock will spring forth with bated breath. When it does he cannot suppress the whimper that burbles up in his throat, or the desire to lunge forward and bury his face against the thatch of dark curls at Howard’s groin so unlike his own shaved skin. 

Vince’s enormous eyes are pleading as he looks up at Howard’s flushing face, and he begs to be allowed to suck him, to taste him, if only for a moment. Too stunned to argue, Howard nods and Vince swallows him down, only to be yanked back up a moment later. 

“Sorry, sorry. Slower?” 

“ _Much_ slower,” Howard gasps, his chest heaving. 

Vince obliges, and re-dedicates himself with Howard’s inexperience in mind. He lavishes kisses and licks with his fat, pink tongue, and when he takes him in again his mouth remains soft and pliant. 

“Can I touch your hair?” Howard whispers at length, his fingertips already poised and trembling above Vince’s scalp. 

Vince moans and pulls off him with a wet pop. “Gently,” he says, as though he has to stipulate. 

When it comes, Howard’s touch is reverent, delicate, as though Vince’s head were the most precious object he’d ever cradled in his own two hands. The harder Vince sucks the harder Howard’s hands become in his hair, curling and winding until his long fingers become tangled in the strands. Vince groans around the cock in his throat and Howard jerks him up again. 

“I can’t,” he pants, raising Vince’s head by the hair and forcing him to look up. His gaze is pleading. “Anymore and I’ll - …”

Vince nods in mute understanding, tonguing his swollen bottom lip as he catches his breath. And then he’s slithering up the bed and onto his knees between Howard’s legs, reaching blindly for the bottle he’d set aside earlier. He uncaps it with a snap.

“I’m going to use my fingers first,” he says, carefully gauging the other man’s reaction. Howard squirms, and his flush appears to deepen in the dark. 

“You’ll find that’s, erm, already been taken care of.” 

Vince blinks. After a second he gestures questioningly from the bottle to Howard’s lower half. “You mean…?” At Howard’s nod his face cracks into a grin of disbelief. “You’ve got to be joking me. When?”

“Earlier, when you were in the bathroom. Like I said, I - I did some research on what to expect, and I wanted to save you the trouble... Expedite the process.” Howard’s fingers pick nervously at the bed sheet. “Should I not have?”

“No, no, it’s alright. Better than alright.” The thought of Howard alone in the bedroom, hastily fucking himself on his own fingers in anticipation that any moment Vince might walk through the door and discover him, is almost too much for him to handle. “Fuck, Howard, that’s the sexiest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

With that said, he strips off his pants, parts Howard’s thighs and sidles up between them, rolling the johnny on over his equipment in full view of the man’s face. The bottle from earlier is opened and its contents dispensed and spread along the length of his shaft. He probes Howard with slippery fingers to ensure he’s ready as he claimed, and is pleased to find the job thoroughly done. 

“Alright?” Vince asks softly, hoisting Howard’s legs a little higher. A strangled sound emits from the big man’s throat as he jerks his chin in a nod. He looks suddenly stricken, and so Vince soothes him with a kiss on the brow, and a murmured, “Don’t worry, Howard. I’ll be so, so gentle.” 

His own heart is beating in his throat as he takes in Howard’s splayed out form below him. The rapid rise and fall of his chest, the sheen of sweat on his skin, the spit-slick erection standing at attention against his belly. And Howard’s eyes, warm and brown and over-bright, betraying his vulnerability with a glisten of unshed tears. Despite it all, Howard spreads his legs wider, lifts his hips, and Vince nearly crumbles at the display of trust that wins out over the man’s unspoken reservations. 

When at last he enters, he does so slowly, inch by sluggish inch, gripping himself by the base until he’s fully sheathed inside the older man. It’s hot, tight, slick, and it takes all his willpower to hold still, to give his mate the time he needs to adjust to the intrusion. To his credit, Howard bares it well. His breathing remains deep and his body relaxed throughout the process, though he keeps an arm thrown across his face, shielding his expression from view. Vince draws it away and swipes the damp curls from Howard’s forehead. His eyes are pinched shut. 

“Howard, look at me,” Vince breathes, petting the tacky skin of his cheek. 

One eye opens, and then the other. Tentatively, Howard glances down their bodies to see where they are connected, where Vince’s pelvis disappears between his legs. He groans, and his head thunks back against the pillow. Vince takes that as a good sign and presses ever so slightly deeper. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says. 

Howard says nothing. With gritted teeth he remains virtually silent as Vince fucks into him, and for a time the only sounds to be heard are the soft schlicks of his thrusts and the whisper of skin on skin. Howard’s long fingers are soon wrapped tight around his upper arms with pressure strong enough to bruise. The pain only serves to arouse Vince further, as does the thought of baring the big man’s marks on his skin for all to see. Proof that they had claimed one another, and that he was Howard’s as much as Howard was his. 

At the thought, his hips snap forward hard, eliciting a muffled grunt from the body beneath him. Howard bites his fist to stifle it, but Vince quickly takes it away and holds his wrist against the mattress. 

“Don’t,” Vince says, lowering his face until their foreheads rest together. “Please, Howard. I want to hear you.” 

For a moment Howard struggles, flexing his hand under Vince’s grasp. It falls still at the same time a moan tears gruffly from his throat. The sound is music to Vince's ears, and he practically purrs with the pleasure of it, rubbing the pointy tip of his nose against Howard’s cheek and jaw. 

The pace increases. Howard’s free hand winds between their bodies to palm shyly at his neglected arousal, and Vince releases a stuttered moan of encouragement. “Fuck, yes, Howard, touch yourself,” he grits out, and Howard does, short, firm strokes that bring him to full hardness within moments. 

Vince releases his hold on Howard’s wrist to better support his weight, but before his hand can disappear Howard has grasped it, winding their fingers together and squeezing as though it were a lifeline. Vince adjusts their position marginally to accommodate this, and his thrusts strike a new angle. Without warning Howard tenses beneath him, his entire body rigid as he pants into Vince’s ear. 

“That - again - like that - “ he begs, grinding himself desperately down against Vince’s pubic bone. “Right there, Vince, _please_ …!”

Vince doesn’t even hesitate. His movements become slow, dragging, tortuous, jaw slack and eyes wide as he discovers exactly how to ruin Howard, how to make him twist and gasp and fist the sheets until he’s choking on his own sobs and pleading for some semblance of respite. Vince is loathe to give in, only breaking when he feels he’s going to come. And then he’s on him again, pummeling Howard’s sweaty, tightly wound body into the mattress like a hammer on a nail. 

Their mouths are close, open, gasping for air in the same space, and Vince aches to close the distance, to seal Howard’s lips in a kiss. But with the contract in mind he refrains, and contents himself to suck instead on the salty skin of his neck as Howard falls apart.

“Vince, I -... I’m so close, I’m gonna - ” Howard leaves the thought unfinished, his face screwed up in concentration. Vince can feel Howard’s spread thighs trembling on either side of his waist. 

“God, yes,” Vince moans in answer, blinking sweat out of his eyes and flicking his hair back. “Fuck, please, Howard, I want you to come.”

The encouragement is all he needs. With a final, drawn out groan Howard spends, tensing and shuddering with every pulse of his cock. Warmth spreads between their already heated skin, and Howard squeezes their joined hands so hard Vince thinks his fingers might break. Eventually his limbs grow weak, malleable, and Vince shifts his hips and drives hard until Howard cries out, striking him again and again in that place that messes him up like nothing else. And then suddenly Vince follows, his ragged breath hitching as his movements stutter and slow. He buries his face into the brown curls splayed out over the pillow and inhales, exhales, inhales against the creeping blackness that threatens to swallow him up. 

As soon as he’s able to move Vince dislodges himself from Howard’s body and rolls onto his side. Their fingers are still loosely linked, and with the last of his energy Vince brings their clasped hands to rest against his chest, over his thunderously racing heart. Beside him, Howard is still shaking, his breathing harsh and slow. 

“I’m sorry I finished inside... I didn’t think to ask,” Vince mumbles eventually, forcing open his eyelids to get a look at the other man. Howard is bright red and drenched in sweat, with hair standing at all ends or otherwise plastered to his sticky face. The appearance is not altogether dissimilar to Howard with a sunburn.

Howard waves Vince's concern away with a floppy hand. “No harm done. I sort of supposed that was what the condom was for, anyway," he says between breaths. It suddenly occurs to Howard that Vince is staring, and the slack of his face turns to wrinkled self-consciousness. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Vince says, sounding guilty even to his own ears. "You just look... different."

"Different how?"

Vince contemplates his answer, but whatever quality it was that had made him look so unfamiliar a moment before has disappeared now that Howard is on the alert. He tries to picture it again in his mind's eye. _Happy, peaceful, content,_ he thinks. None of those will do, so in the end Vince answers:

"...Relaxed."

"Relaxed." Howard tries the word out for himself, frowning a little. "And do you think other people will notice? You know, that I'm... relaxed?"

Vince shrugs. "I doubt it."

"But you know. And I know," he says. 

"And Bollo and Naboo, they know."

Howard winces. "Oh yeah."

Now that his pulse has quieted Vince can hear the static of the record player. Apparently Howard hears it too, as the next second he reaches over to lift the needle. Stillness disturbed, Vince discards the tied off condom in the waste bin by the bed as Howard mops his stomach with a towel. When they're both relatively dry they settle back down, hand in hand once more.

Howard is the first to speak this time. "I want to thank you," he murmurs, his lips inordinately close to Vince's ear. "I know this probably wasn't a big deal for you, but this was really special to me." 

Vince can't quite disguise the hurt from his tone. “It was special for me too, you know. I’ve never been anyone’s first before. I don't even think I was the first for _my_ first.” 

“Sad about that, are you?” 

“Not exactly. It’s just that…” Vince bites his lip, unsure how much to reveal. “I don’t know. I sort of wish this had been the first time for me as well. That’s stupid, isn’t it?”

Howard is quiet for a long time before answering. “No. It’s not stupid,” he says, and he squeezes Vince's hand.

And suddenly Vince knows why he’d selfishly agreed to this in the first place, why he'd gone along with the contract and the chess match and the Glenn Miller and all the awkwardness of Howard's first sexual experience, despite that little voice in the back of his head that had warned him not to get too close, not to open his heart up like this to a man who would never see him as more than a friend. Because on some level he's always known - that Howard belonged with him - _to_ him. Everything he had to offer, everything he was willing to part with, Vince would greedily accept. And since he’d decided to part with his innocence Vince was only too glad to take it from him, to assume his rightful place as the first and only person with whom Howard Moon had ever been intimate. 

Exhaustion silences the last of these thoughts. Vince's eyes have long since closed, gawky limbs and bony angles thrown all around the single bed they share. Howard is already snoring, hot breath ruffling the fine hairs that frame Vince's face. 

“Howard?”

The big man grunts and sucks in a breath. Barely conscious himself, Vince isn’t even sure whether he voices the next part aloud:

“I know it goes against the contract, but I figure since the sex is over… Would it be alright if we kissed now?”

Soft, sleepy silence. Halfway into a dream, Vince is pretty sure he only imagined he'd said the words that rattle and scramble in the forefront of his mind. Howard’s lack of a response is proof enough that they were unspoken. And that’s alright, Vince thinks, because he’s still got Howard’s hand tucked into his. And that’s enough. 

Sleep descends and he falls into a dream, but not before Vince registers the tickle of a mustache against his upper lip. Or at least, he thinks he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments greatly appreciated.
> 
> For the love of God if you don’t know who Ron Jeremy is don’t google him


End file.
